The Belton Estate

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But William Belton did not come to eat the breakfast. He got what he
wanted in that way at the inn at Redicote, and even then hesitated,
loitering at the bar, before he would go over. What was he to say, and
how would he be received? After all, had he not done amiss in coming to
a house at which he probably might not be wanted? Would it not be
thought that his journey had been made solely with a view to his own
property? He would be regarded as the heir pouncing upon the
inheritance before as yet the old owner was under the ground. At any
rate it would be too early for him to make his visit yet awhile; and,
to kill time, he went over to a carpenter who had been employed by him
about the place at Belton. The carpenter spoke to him as though
everything were his own, and was very intent upon future improvements.
This made Will more disgusted with himself than ever, and before he
could get out of the carpenter's yard he thoroughly wished himself back
at Plaistow. But having come so far, he could hardly return without
seeing his cousin, and at last he had himself driven over, reaching the
house between eleven and twelve o'clock in the day.

Clara met him in the hall, and at once led him into the room which she
had prepared for him. He had given her his hand in the hall, but did
not speak to her till she had spoken to him after the closing of the
room door behind them. 'I thought that you would come' she said, still
holding him by the hand.

'I did not know what to do,' he answered. 'I couldn't say which was
best. Now I am here I shall only be in your way.' He did not dare to
press her hand, nor could he bring himself to take his away from her.

'In my way yes; as an angel, to tell me what to do in my trouble. I
knew you would come, because you are so good. But you will have
breakfast see, I have got it ready for you.'

'Oh no; I breakfasted at Redicote. I would not trouble you.'

'Trouble me, Will! Oh, Will, if you knew!' Then there came tears in her
eyes, and at the sight of them both his own were filled. How was he to
stand it? To take her to his bosom and hold her there for always; to
wipe away her tears so that she should weep no more; to devote himself
and all his energy and all that was his comfort to her this he could
have done; but he knew not how to do anything short of this. Every word
that she spoke to him was an encouragement to this, and yet he knew
that it could not be so. To say a word of his love, or even to look it,
would now be an unmanly insult. And yet, how was he not to look it not
to speak of it? 'It is such a comfort that you should be here with me,'
she said.

'Then I am glad I am here, though I do not know what I can do. Did he
suffer much, Clara?'

'No, I think not; very little. He sank at last quicker than I expected,
but just as I thought he would go. He used to speak of you so often,
and. always with regard and esteem!'

' Dear old man!'

'Yes, Will; he was, in spite of his little faults. No father ever loved
his daughter better than he loved me.'

After a while the servant brought in the tea, explaining to Belton that
Miss Clara had neither eaten nor drank that morning. 'She wouldn't take
anything till you came, sir.' Then Will added his entreaties, and Clara
was persuaded, and by degrees there grew between them more ease of
manner and capability for talking than had been within their reach when
they first met. And during the morning many things were explained, as
to which Clara would a few hours previously have thought it to be
almost impossible that she should speak to her cousin. She had told him
of her aunt's money, and the way in which she had on that very morning
sent back the cheque to the lawyer; and she had said something also as
to Lady Aylmer's views, and her own views as to Lady Aylmer. With Will
this subject was one most difficult of discussion; and he blushed and
fidgeted in his chair, and walked about the room, and found himself
unable to look Clara in the face as she spoke to him. But she went on,
goading him with the name, which of all names was the most distasteful
to him; and mentioning that name almost in terms of reproach of
reproach which he felt it would be ungenerous to reciprocate, but which
he would have exaggerated to unmeasured abuse if he had given his
tongue licence to speak his mind.

'I was right to send back the money wasn't I, Will? Say that I was
right. Pray tell me that you think so!'

'I don't understand it at present, you see; I am no lawyer.'

'But it doesn't want a lawyer to know that I couldn't take the money
from him. I am sure you feel that.'

'If a man owes money of course he ought to pay it.'

'But he doesn't owe it, Will. It is intended for generosity.'

'You don't want anybody's generosity, certainly.' Then he reflected
that Clara must, after all, depend entirely on the generosity of some
one till she was married; and he wanted to explain to her that
everything he had in the world was at her service was indeed her own.
Or he would have explained, if he knew how, that he did not intend to
take advantage of the entail that the Belton estate should belong to
her as the natural heir of her father. But he conceived that the moment
for explaining this had hardly as yet arrived, and that he bad better
confine himself to some attempt at teaching her that no extraneous
assistance would be necessary to her, 'In money matters,' said he, 'of
course you are to look to me. That is a matter of course. I'll see
Green about the other affairs. Green and I are friends. We'll settle
it.'

'That's not what I meant, Will.'

'But it's what I mean. This is one of those things in which a man has
to act on his own judgment. Your father and I understood each other.'

'He did not understand that I was to accept your bounty.'

'Bounty is a nasty word, and I hate it. You accepted me as your
brother, and as such I mean to act.' The word almost stuck in his
throat, but be brought it out at last in a fierce tone, of which she
understood accurately the cause and meaning. 'All money matters about
the place must be settled by me. Indeed, that's why I came down.'

'Not only for that, Will?'

'Just to be useful in that way, I mean.'

'You came to see me because you knew I should want you.' Surely this
was malice prepense! Knowing what was his want, how could she
exasperate it by talking thus of her own? 'As for money, I have no
claim on any one. No creature was ever more forlorn. But I will not
talk of that.'

'Did you not say that you would treat me as a brother?'

'I did not mean that I was to be a burden on you.'

'I know what I meant, and that is sufficient.' Belton had been at the
house some hours before he made any signs of leaving her, and when he
did so he had to explain something of his plans. He would remain, he
said, for about a week in the neighbourhood.

She of course was obliged to ask him to stay at the house at the house
which was in fact his own; but he declined to do this, blurting out his
reason at last very plainly. 'Captain Aylmer would not like it, and I
suppose you are bound to think of what he likes and dislikes.' 'I don't
know what right Captain Aylmer would have to dislike any such thing,'
said Clara. But, nevertheless, she allowed the reason to pass as
current, and did not press her invitation. Will declared that he would
stay at the inn at Redicote,, striving to explain in some very
unintelligible manner that such an arrangement would be very
convenient. He would remain at Redicote, and would come over to Belton
every day during his sojourn in the country. Then he asked one question
in a low whisper as to the last sad ceremony, and, having received an
answer, started off with the declared intention of calling on Colonel
Askerton.

The next two or three days passed uncomfortably enough with Will
Belton. He made his head- quarters at the little inn of Redicote, and
drove himself backwards and forwards between that place and the estate
which was now his own. On each of these days he saw Colonel Askerton,
whom he found to be a civil pleasant man, willing enough to rid himself
of the unpleasant task he had undertaken, but at the same time, willing
also to continue his services if any further services were required of
him. But of Mrs Askerton on these occasions Will saw nothing, nor had
he ever spoken to her since the time of his first visit to the Castle.
Then came the day of the funeral, and after that rite was over he
returned with his cousin to the house. There was no will to be read.
The old squire had left no will, nor was there anything belonging to
him at the time of his death that he could bequeath. The furniture in
the house, the worn-out carpets and old-fashioned chairs, belonged to
Clara; but, beyond that, property had she none, nor had it been in her
father's power to endow her with anything. She was alone in the world,
penniless, with a conviction on her own mind that her engagement with
Frederic Aylmer must of necessity come to an end, and with a feeling
about her cousin which she could hardly analyse, but which told her
that she could not go to his house in Norfolk, nor live with him at
Belton Castle, nor trust herself in his hands as she would into those
of a real brother.

On the afternoon of the day on which her father had been buried, she
brought to him a letter, asking him to read it, and tell her what she
should do. The letter was from Lady Aylmer, and contained an invitation
to Aylmer Castle. It had been accompanied, as the reader may possibly
remember, by a letter from Captain Aylmer himself. Of this she of
course informed her cousin; but she did not find it to be necessary to
show the letter of one rival to the other. Lady Aylmer's letter was
cold in its expression of welcome, but very dictatorial in pointing out
the absolute necessity that Clara should accept the invitation so
given. 'I think you will not fail to agree with me, dear Miss Amedroz,'
the letter said, 'that under these strange and perplexing
circumstances, this is the only roof which can, with any propriety,
afford you a shelter.' 'And why not the poor-house?' she said, aloud to
her cousin, when she perceived that his eye had descended so far on the
page. He shook his head angrily, but said nothing; and when he had
finished the letter he folded it and gave it back still in silence.
'And what am I to do?' she said. 'You tell me that I am to come to you
for advice in everything.'

'You must decide for yourself here.'

'And you won't advise me.. You won't tell me whether she is right?

'I suppose she is right.'

'Then I had better go?'

'If you mean to marry Captain Aylmer, you had better go.'

'I am engaged to him.'

'Then you had better go.'

'But I will not submit myself to her tyranny.'

'Let the marriage take place at once, and you will have to submit only
to his. I suppose you are prepared for that?'

'I do not know. I do not like tyranny.'

Again he stood silent for awhile, looking at her, and then he answered:
' I should not tyrannize over you, Clara.'

'Oh, Will, Will, do not speak like that. Do not destroy everything.'

'What am I to say?'

'What would you say if your sister, your real sister, asked advice in
such a strait? If you had a sister, who came to you, and told you all
her difficulty, you would advise her. You would not say words to make
things worse for her.'

'It would be very different.'

'But you said you would be my brother.'

'How am I to know what you feel for this man? It seems to me that you
half hate him, half fear him, and sometimes despise him.'

'Hate him! No I never hate him.'

'Go to him, then, and ask him what you had better do. Don't ask me.'
Then he hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind him. But
before he had half gone down the stairs he remembered the ceremony at
which he had just been present, and how desolate she was in the world,
and he returned to her. 'I beg your pardon, Clara,' he said, 'I am
passionate; but I must be a beast to show my passion to you on such a
day as this. If I were you I should accept Lady Aylmer's invitation
merely thanking her for it in the ordinary way. I should then go and
see how the land lay. That is the advice I should give my sister.'

'And I will if it is only because you tell me.'

'But as for a home tell her you have one of your own at Belton Castle,
from which no one can turn you out, and where no one can intrude on
you. This house belongs to you.' Then, before she could answer him, he
had left the room and she listened to his heavy quick footsteps as he
went across the hall and out of the front door.

He walked across the park and entered the little gate of Colonel
Askerton's garden, as though it were his habit to go to the cottage
when he was at Belton. There had been various matters on which the two
men had been brought into contact concerning the old squire's death and
the tenancy of the cottage, so that they had become almost intimate.
Belton had nothing new that he specially desired to say to Colonel
Askerton, whom, indeed, he had seen only a short time before at the
funeral; but he wanted the relief of speaking to some one before he
returned to the solitude of the inn at Redicote. On this occasion,
however, the colonel was out, and the maid asked him if he would see
Mrs Askerton. When he said something about not troubling her, the girl
told him that her mistress wished to speak to him, and then he had no
alternative but to allow himself to be shown into the drawing-room.

'I want to see you a minute,' said Mrs Askerton, bowing to him without
putting out her hand, 'that I might ask you how you find your cousin.'

'She is pretty well, I think'

'Colonel Askerton has seen more of her than I have since her father's
death, and he says that she does not bear it well. He thinks that she
is ill.'

'I do not think her ill. Of course she is not in good spirits.'

'No; exactly. How should she be? But he thinks she seems so worn. I
hope you will excuse me, Mr Belton, but I love her so well that I
cannot bear to be quite in the dark as to her future. Is anything
settled yet?'

'She is going to Aylmer Castle.'

'To Aylmer Castle! Is she indeed? At once?'

'Very soon. Lady Aylmer has asked her.'

'Lady Aylmer! Then I suppose'

'You suppose what?' Will Belton asked.

'I did not think she would have gone to Aylmer Castle though I dare say
it is the best thing she could do She seemed to me to dislike the
Aylmers that is, Lady Aylmer so much! But I suppose she is right?'

'She is right to go if she likes it.'

'She is circumstanced so cruelly! Is she not? Where else could she go?
I do so feel for her. I believe I need hardly tell you, Mr Belton,
that, she would be as welcome here as flowers in May but that I do not
dare to ask her to come to us.' She said this in a low voice, turning
her eyes away from him, looking first upon the ground, and then again
up at the window but still not daring to meet his eye.

'I don't exactly know about that,' said Belton awkwardly.

'You know, I hope, that I love her dearly.'

'Everybody does that,' said Will.

'You do, Mr Belton.'

'Yes I do; just as though she were my sister.'

'And as your sister would you let her come here to us?' He sat silent
for awhile, thinking, and she waited patiently for his answer. Bat she
spoke again before he answered her. 'I am well aware that you know all
my history, Mr Belton.'

'I shouldn't tell it her, if you mean that, though she were my sister.
If she were my wife I should tell her.'

'And why your wife?'

'Because then I should be sure it would do no harm.'

'Then I find that you can be generous, Mr Belton. But she knows it all
as well as you do.'

'I did not tell her.'

'Nor did I but I should have done so had not Captain Aylmer been before
me. And now tell me whether I could ask her to come here.'

'It would be useless, as she is going to Aylmer Castle'.

'But she is going there simply to find a home having no other.'

'That is not so, Mrs Askerton. She has a home as perfectly her own as
any woman in the land. Belton Castle is hers, to do what she may please
with it. She can live here if she likes it, and nobody can say a word
to her. She need not go to Aylmer Castle to look for a home.'

'You mean you would lend her the house?'

'It is hers.'

'I do not understand you, Mr Belton.'

'It does not signify we will say no more about it.'

'And you think she likes going to Lady Aylmer's?'

'How should I say what she likes?'

Then there was another pause before Mrs Askerton spoke again. 'I can
tell you one thing,' she said: 'she does not like him.'

'That is her affair.'

'But she should be taught to know her own mind before she throws
herself away altogether. You would not wish your cousin to marry a man
whom she does not love because at one time she had come to think that
she loved him. That is the truth of it, Mr Belton. If she goes to
Aylmer Castle she will marry him and she will be an unhappy woman
always afterwards. If you would sanction her coming here for a few
days, I think all that would be cured. She would come in a moment, if
you advised her.'

Then he went away, allowing himself to make no further answer at the
moment, and discussed the matter with himself as he walked back to
Redicote, meditating on it with all his mind, and all his heart, and
all his strength. And, as he meditated, it came on to rain bitterly a
cold piercing February rain and the darkness of night came upon him,
and he floundered on through the thick mud of the Somersetshire lanes,
unconscious of the weather and of the darkness. There was a way open to
him by which he might even yet get what he wanted. He thought he saw
that there was a way open to him through the policy of this woman, whom
he perceived to have become friendly to him. He saw, or thought that he
saw, it all. No day had absolutely been fixed for this journey to
Yorkshire; and if Clara were induced to go first to the cottage, and
stay there with Mrs Askerton, no such journey might ever be taken. He
could well understand that such a visit on her part would give a mortal
offence to all the Aylmers. That tyranny of which Clara spoke with so
much dread would be exhibited then without reserve, and so there would
be an end altogether of the Aylmer alliance. But were she once to start
for Aylmer Park, then there would be no hope for him. Then her fate
would be decided -and his. As far as he could see, too as far as he
could see then, there would be no dishonesty in this plan. Why should
Clara not go to Mrs Askerton's house? What could be more natural than
such a visit at such a time? If she were in truth his sister he would
not interfere to prevent it if she wished it. He had told himself that
the woman should be forgiven her offence, and had thought that that
forgiveness should be complete. If the Aylmers were so unreasonable as
to quarrel with her on this ground, let them quarrel with her. Mrs
Askerton had told him that Clara did not really like Captain Aylmer.
Perhaps it was so; and if so, what greater kindness could he do her
than give her an opportunity for escaping such a union?

The whole of the next day he remained at Redicote, thinking, doubting,
striving to reconcile his wishes and his honesty. It rained all day,
and as he sat alone, smoking in the comfortless inn, he told himself
that the rain was keeping him but in truth it was not the rain. Had he
resolved to do his best to prevent this visit to Yorkshire, or had he
resolved to further it, I think he would have gone to Belton without
much fear of the rain. On the second day after the funeral he did go,
and he had then made up his mind. Clara, if she would listen to him,
should show her independence of Lady Aylmer by staying a few days with
the Askertons before she went to Yorkshire, and by telling Lady Aylmer
that such was her intention. 'If she really loves the man,' he said to
himself, 'she will go at once, in spite of anything that I can say. If
she does not, I shall be saving her.'

'How cruel of you not to come yesterday! ' Clara said, as soon as she
saw him.,

'It rained hard,' he answered.

' But men like you care so little for rain; but that is when you have
business to take you out or pleasure.'

'You need not be so severe. The truth is I had things to trouble me.'

'What troubled you, Will. I thought all the trouble was mine.'

'I suppose everybody thinks that his own shoe pinches the hardest.'

'Your shoe can't pinch you very bad, I should think. Sometimes when I
think of you it seems that you are an embodiment of prosperity and
happiness.'

'I don't see it myself that's all. Did you write to Lady Aylmer, Clara?'

'I wrote; but I didn't send it. I would not send any letter till I had
shown it to you, as you are my confessor and adviser. There; read it.
Nothing, I think, could be more courteous or less humble.' He took the
letter and read it. Clara had simply expressed herself willing to
accept Lady Aylmer's invitation, and asked her ladyship to fix a day.
There was no mention of Captain Aylmer's name in the note.

'And you think this is best?' he said. His voice was hardly like his
own as he spoke. There was wanting to it that tone of self-assurance
which his voice almost always possessed, even when self- assurance was
lacking to his words.

'I thought it was your own advice,' she said.

'Well yes; that is, I don't quite know. You couldn't go for a week or
so yet, I suppose.'

'Perhaps in about a week.'

'And what will you do till then.?'

'What will I do!'

'Yes where do you mean to stay?'

'I thought, Will, that perhaps you would let me remain here.'

'Let you! Oh, heavens! Look here, Clara.'

'Before heaven I want what may be the best for you without thinking of
you, if I could only help it.'

'I have never doubted you. I never will doubt you. I believe in you
next to my God. I do, Will; I do.' He walked up and down the room
half-a-dozen times before he spoke again, while she stood by the table
watching him. 'I wish,' she said, 'I knew what it is that troubles
you.' To this he made no answer, but went on walking till she came up
to him, and putting both her hands upon his arm said, 'It will be
better, Will, that I should go will it not? Speak to me, and say so. I
feel that it will be better.' Then he stopped in his walk and looked
down upon her, as her hands still rested upon his shoulder. He gazed
upon her for some few seconds, remaining quite motionless, and then,
opening his arms, he surrounded her with his embrace, and pressing her
with all his strength close to his bosom, kissed her forehead, and her
cheeks, and her lips, and her eyes. His will was so masterful, his
strength so great, and his motion so quick, that she was powerless to
escape from him till he relaxed his hold. Indeed she hardly struggled,
so much was she surprised and so soon released. But the moment that he
left her he saw that her face was burning red, and that the tears were
streaming from her eyes. She stood for a moment trembling, with her
hands clenched, and with a look of scorn upon her lips and brow that he
had never seen before; and then she threw herself on a sofa, and,
burying her face, sobbed aloud; while her whole body was shaken as with
convulsions. He leaned over her repentant, not knowing what to do, not
knowing how to speak. All ideas of his scheme had gone from him now. He
had offended her for ever past redemption. What could be the use now of
any scheme? And as he stood there he hated himself because of his
scheme. The utter misery and disgrace of the present moment had come
upon him because he had thought more of himself than of her. It was but
a few moments since she had told him that she trusted him next to her
God; and yet in those few moments, he had shown himself utterly
unworthy of that trust, and had destroyed all her confidence. But he
could not leave, her without speaking to her. 'Clara!' he said 'Clara.'
But she did not answer him. 'Clara; will you not speak to me? Will you
not let me ask you to forgive me?' But still she only sobbed. For her,
at that moment, we may say that sobbing was easier than speech. How was
she to pardon so great an offence? How was she to resent such
passionate love?

But he could not continue to stand there motionless, all but
speechless, while she lay with her face turned away from him. He must
at any rate in some manner take himself away out of the room; and this
he could not do, even in his present condition of unlimited disgrace,
without a word of farewell. 'Perhaps I had better go and leave you,' he
said.

Then at last there came a voice, 'Oh, Will, why have you done this?
Why have you treated me so badly?' When he had last seen her face her
mouth had been full of scorn, but, there was, no scorn now in her
voice. 'Why why why?'

Why indeed except that it was needful for him that she should know the
depth of his passion. 'If you will forgive me, Clara, I will not offend
you so again,' he said.

'You have offended me. What am I to say? What am I to do? I have no
other friend.'

'I am a wretch. I know that I am a wretch.'

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